


a punchline away from home

by pulsivere



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Bad Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3525380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulsivere/pseuds/pulsivere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After twelve months, Louis starts to learn that freedom is much more than being by himself in big, bad London. It's a lot more than Louis could have ever imagined, and it tastes a lot like bad whiskey and cheesy puns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a punchline away from home

**Author's Note:**

> I like this one, I don't know. Maybe I've been reading too much poetry lately, so I apologize in advance for the literary references and poems. The bad pick-up lines don't really help, I know. Also, the first quote in the beggining: "Maybe we are not magic anymore..." is from a poem by Trista Mateer. The song Zayn sings at the pub is Ho Hey by The Lumineers, because obviously. Trigger warning for: mentions of domestic violence, child abuse and a suicide attempt. I didn't want to tag those because it would be a massive spoiler.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own this band or anything related to it except for this story. If I did no one would be straight.

_What hurts_

_is how many have_

_seen the cut-raw, deep_

_pieces of me_

_and looked away._

\- Lora Mathis

 

 

*

 

 

Louis spends sixty pounds on groceries and carries the three too heavy bags all the way from Sailsbury to his flat. The elevator is broken, not a big surprise since it hasn’t gone up or down since Louis moved in, a year ago. The jog up the stairs makes his thighs burn and he definitely regrets not having chosen the flat three blocks away, because even though there were roaches fucking everywhere the elevator at least worked. By the time he makes it inside the flat his arms are aching bad enough to make him consider taking some Tylenol.

He drops the bags on the kitchen counter, old and covered with black spots because yes, apparently you can burn marble if you place too hot stuff on it, or maybe it’s just Louis’ luck that defies even the physics laws. It’s too early to be feeling sorry for himself, so Louis unloads the bags and tries really hard not to think about anything in particular.

Tony the Tiger smiles up at him from the cereal box, big orange thumb up and pointing towards a big bowl of Frosties. Vaguely, he remembers a time when the food he ate didn’t come from carton bags, takeaway or frozen ready to go meals. That was a long time ago.

It’s too fucking early to feel sorry for himself.

 

*

 

He’s dozed off on the couch when there’s a knock on the door. More like three knocks and a half, because apparently Liam can’t knock just one time. Louis is sure it’s late because when he glances back at the telly he sees it’s a re-run of a black and white movie from like, the sixties.

Scrambling to get to his feet he manages to stub his toe on the side of the couch and by the time he’s made it to the door his eyes are glassier than he’d like to admit. Liam’s standing there, all suit and tie, a messenger bag slung over his right shoulder, looking so fucking posh.

Louis is in a pair of jogging bottoms and the oldest t-shirt he owns. He’s not sure what time it is, but it still seems too early onto the day to wallow in self-pity.

Liam steps in, grins softly, “Hello, old friend.”

“Respect your elders,” Louis scoffs, “what are you even doing here? I thought tonight you worked extra hours.”

Liam’s hand finds Louis’ hip, pats it reassuringly. They met on the first day of school in the playground more than twelve years ago and Liam still looks the same. Sure, now he’s all muscles and at least a head taller than Louis, but the innocent sweetness that made Louis take up interest in him is still there. It’s always been there.

“Lou, I’ve been working all day and this is how you receive me? I think I want a divorce,” Liam says and leads the way to the kitchen. Louis is glad he went grocery shopping earlier.

“Please no, I need you to bring the bread to the table.” Louis laughs and takes two cans of beer out of the refrigerator and sets them on the table.

Liam’s already got the bag of crisps out. “I think Josh can handle the paperwork by himself for one night. Besides, I wanted to see you.”

Louis takes a deep breathe, says, “I’m fine.” Liam has this annoying habit of seeing right through him, and its trapped Louis into confessing too many embarrassing things over the years. This time is not different.

Liam shakes his head. “My mum called me yesterday, you know,” he says. Louis takes sip from his beer, dog-ears Liam’s words carefully because he sure as hell didn’t come to Louis’ flat right after working nine hours to tell Louis his mother called him yesterday. Something’s up.

“How’s she doing?” he asks, then adds, “And Geoff?”

“They’re doing good. She sends you lots of love.”

Today was Louis’ day off. He didn’t have to go to class, or study for an upcoming test. His part time job is more than enough to pay rent and his frozen meals, so today he had slept in until eleven, threw on a hoodie and dark jeans and went to get something to eat. Today’s been nothing but a chill out day, no one calling him on the phone demanding, expecting, and worrying. Not that Louis has a phone, anyways.

“She ran into Jay the other day.” Liam says softly.

His words have been carefully scripted to perfection. Louis wonders if Liam spent the night trying to find the best way to tell Louis whatever it is he’s trying to tell. It’s funny, kind of, how Liam doesn’t say your mum and instead go with Jay. It struck him, seconds later. A quote he’d read somewhere, on a poetry book maybe, on the internet. _Perhaps we’re not magic anymore. Perhaps we’re just comfortable. We just know our way around one another. We know which wounds to cauterize and which to let bleed._ They were hardly ever magic, but still. Liam knows him inside out, so well, too well. Sometimes, Louis wonders if they’re not the same person.

When Louis doesn’t say anything, Liam hums. “She’s getting a divorce.”

Louis drains his beer with one gulp. His fingers feel numb from gripping the cold can for so long and he doesn’t look at Liam for a while, he can’t. Not when he feels like his ribs are nudging his lungs, his heart, saying hey, just do yourself a favor and stop, you’re embarrassing yourself. It’s quite for a moment, nothing but their breathings and then Louis turns to stare out of the tiny kitchen window, which has a fantastic view of the red brick wall building.

“Lou…” Liam says quietly.

“Don’t.” Louis cuts him off and tries not to let his voice break, but Liam knows. “You must be really tired mate, maybe you should just… head out, go to bed? I myself am knackered.”

Liam doesn’t push it, he knows better. Instead, stands up and stretches, sips his beer one last time and stares at Louis for a moment. They walk in silence to the door and Louis holds it open for him.

Liam grabs a handful of Louis’ shirt and pulls him close, pressing his head against the top of Louis’ head. Louis breathes him in. Liam’s wearing Chanel, probably.

“Just think about it, alright?” he says. “I love you.”

Louis doesn’t say anything back, pulls away from the hug and looks down at the floor. He waits until Liam sighs and steps out, then closes the door and puts the lock on.

It’s fine. Louis is fine, he’s fucking fantastic, and it’s still too early to feel like shit.

However, it’s never too early to go to bed.

 

*

 

On Wednesday, Louis goes out for a walk.

It’s more like Louis weasels his way out of talking to Liam by taking a walk. He knows Liam’s going to stop by as soon as he can because it’s Wednesday and it’s his only day off and honestly Louis could use a morning walk now and then to burn off some calories. As it turns out, Frosties do go straight to your thighs.

He goes out at ten o’clock, because really, there’s only so much Louis Tomlinson is capable of and waking up before ten is just not on the list, and starts a slow jog through the streets of London. Louis has never been a fan of working out, except for football. When he was younger that’s all he cared about, or at least all he tried to care about. And he was good at it, as good as it gets.

Forty-six minutes later he stumbles into his flat, sweaty and breathing heavily from the morning jog and the climb up the stairs, drinks a glass of water and gets into the shower. It’s easy to tip his head back and let the water pour down on him like a waterfall, hot and heavy. For a while he just stands under the rain, breathing in the steam. By the time gets out its half past eleven.

Hopefully Liam has already come by and left because Louis was out. Hopefully, Liam’s out with Zayn for the day. Just to be sure, Louis grabs his wallet from the bed and goes out to the pub on the other block. Just to be sure.

It’s called The Crooked House.

Louis slides into the booth next to the bar, leans on the counter and stares at the colorful whiskey bottles lining up the wall. The place is mostly empty, being only eleven in the morning on a Wednesday but whatever, it’s not like Louis likes being around people. At least not anymore.

There’s a deep chuckle, and a “What can I get you mate?” When he looks up is to find a boy who has to lean all over himself to reach the counter. Tall, too tall, Louis notes, brown curls all over the place and really pink lips. Louis’ always been a goner for pink lips.

“Whiskey,” Louis says.

The boy smirks. “Isn’t it too early to start drinking the heavy stuff?” he asks, but still pours Louis a shot.

“Maybe I’m not here just for the drinks,” Louis winks at him, drains his shot.

If he were still in Doncaster he wouldn’t even be talking to a boy, let alone flirting with him, but it’s been twelve months since he’s been to Doncaster. A year somehow doesn’t sound like a lot of time, but to Louis it feels like a lifetime. He still remembers the day he got to the big city, how he crashed in a one and a half star hotel and pretended he was being brave.

“I see. ‘m Harry, your company for the morning,” pretty boy announces, “And you are?”

Louis smiles, tips his head to the side, “You’ll have to guess.”

“Cheeky, aren’t you? Give me a clue then.” Harry replies, “Unless you want me to call you whiskeyman.”

“It’s French.” Harry ponders about it for a bit.

He’s so pretty Louis has to look away, with his big green eyes and lovely voice. He wonders what Harry’s voice would sound like after Louis fucked his mouth, if it’d turn even deeper, scratchy or-

 _No_. Louis will not think about that.

“Pierre?” Harry wonders out loud.

“Do I look like my name’s fucking Pierre?” Louis shrieks, “Hell no.”

Harry holds his hands up, a piece sign. His fingers are so long they look scary. And hot, Louis thinks. “Well, you did say it was French so… What about Emmanuel?”

“Oh my God, no,” Louis moans, “It’s Louis.”

Harry laughs, “Like Lewis? How do you even spell it?”

“No, like… give me a napkin and I’ll write it down. You honestly thought my name was Pierre?”

He takes the napkin and pen from Harry, their fingers brushing softly for a second, but it’s enough to make Louis forget how to write. He scribbles his name down after a moment, and pushes the napkin over the counter for Harry to see.

“L-O-U-I-S,” Harry reads out loud, “That’s a pretty name. I’ve got to admit it is way better than Pierre.”

Louis just laughs. Harry’s green eyes are sparkling, or maybe the whiskey Louis just choked down is finally making its way to his brain.

“So, do you kiss like the French, Louis?” Harry asks, wide eyed to appear innocent as a little bit of his pink tongue darts out of his mouth.

Louis wants to fuck that mouth so bad. “Is there any other way to kiss?” he asks and winks.

As he slides off the booth he takes a tenner and puts it on the counter. Then he turns around and heads out of the bar, feeling Harry’s eyes on him. Good, Louis thinks, he hopes Harry gets a nice view of his ass.

 

*

 

It is fully well known that Louis has no self-control.

He goes back to the bar the next day, this time after he’s done at the office still wearing his dressing pants and shirt. Really, he looks like a twat but even that isn’t enough to keep him from going to the bar, silently hoping, hoping, hoping.

The place is half empty, but there are definitely more people than yesterday morning. Louis sits on the same booth and waits. Five minutes later a skinny blonde guy approaches him from behind the counter. Still, no Harry.

“Lad! Beer, whiskey,” he says in an Irish accent, wiggles his eyebrows, “rum?”

Would it be racist to say that all pubs have at least one irish dude? Probably. Louis looks around. There is only one other guy behind the counter and he’s definitely not Harry. He forces himself not to look too disappointed.

Louis sighs, says, “Whiskey.”

The blonde lad frowns for a second, “this is gonna sound weird as fuck but what’s yer name?” He’s right, it does sound weird as fuck.

“Louis.”

His eyes flash with recognition as a smile splits his face, and without saying anything he takes the Whiskey bottle from under the bar and pours Louis a shot.

Is this guy flirting with Louis? That would be two guys in the space of two days, and even though Louis has never doubted his good looks he doesn’t think this guy’s gay at all. But hell, you never really know. Before Louis can ask anything, the guy’s skipping, fucking skipping, to the other side of the bar and talking to some costumers.

Maybe Louis hasn’t lost his technique after all.

 

*

 

“You seriously need to consider getting a new phone Lou,” Zayn groans, “Eveytime I want to tell you something I have to come over, it’s ridiculous.”

Liam manages to frown for a second, “hey, don’t mess with my boy.”

“And the bloody stairs,” Zayn goes on as if Liam hadn’t spoken at all, “why hasn’t anyone fixed the elevator?”

“I don’t think the elevator has worked in, let’s say… five decades?” Louis laughs, “besides I don’t really need a phone. I’ve got no one to call.”

Liam puts a hand over his heart, as if wounded, “what about us? Don’t we count at all, Louis? You were right Zed, maybe we are just his mistresses after all.”

Zayn shakes his head and puts a chip in his mouth. “Honestly, you need a phone.”

He had one but then he moved to London and talking to people was something he’d rather avoid. Louis knows it sounds childish, because it is, but he doesn’t want to get a phone. The thought of it ringing in the middle of the night, of picking it up and hearing that voice on the other side of the line is enough to make his skin crawl. He doesn’t want a phone. Besides he was being honest when he said he had no one to call, no one he wants to call at least.

“What if you meet someone, huh?” Liam says.

Louis shrugs. “I don’t date Liam, you know that.”

“But what if you do?” Liam says again, more forcefully.

It’s stupid that the first person that pops into his head is Harry, the guy who works at the bar a block away from his flat, but it is. If Harry asked for Louis’ number, what would Louis say? What if the only way they could talk outside the bar was to meet at Louis’ place? It is kind of ridiculous.

“If I say yes…” Louis begins.

Zayn cuts him off. “Glad to hear you say yes since we bought you a new one and all…”

“What?”

“Consider it a birthday present,” Liam replies, and reaches for his bag.

Louis lets out a strangled noise, “my birthday was six months ago.”

“Well then, this is an advanced present for the next one.” Liam hands him a little box with the phone apparently in it.

The waitress comes over and hands them the check. Louis is speechless. There was a time when Louis would have jumped up and down, made a scene, screamed and laughed so hard he would cry. Right now he just feels like crying. It still shocks him every time they do something like this, because he can’t believe that they love him this much. It still amazes him, how they can be so loving and good to him, even when he hasn’t been the best of friends to them. Louis wishes he could help them the way they’ve helped him, but it’s impossible.

He doesn’t know what to say, settles for “thank you guys.”

Liam and Zayn grin like it’s nothing. And in terms of money it really isn’t. With Liam having been promoted and Zayn doing those modelling campaigns both of their monthly paychecks are higher than what Louis’ flat costs, three times. It is the gesture though, that makes Louis weak kneed.

Zayn winks, says, “Go on Lou, go find some cute bloke and give him your number.”

 _Already have_ , Louis thinks to himself.

 

*

 

Louis feels like a stalker.

Actually, he feels more like a fifteen year old girl crushing on the captain of the footie team, but whatever. He knows Harry works on Wednesdays, because the day they met had been a lazy Wednesday morning, so Louis decides to subtly go into the bar and see if Harry’s around. If – if- Harry’s working today then Louis is not going to walk out of the bar without Harry’s number in his phone. It’s a fact.

So what if Louis is kind of lurking in the shadows, metaphorically speaking, on a cool Wednesday night trying to figure out if Harry is working tonight or not? There’s nothing creepy about it. Maybe. Probably not. Most definitely.

He can’t just go in and turn around if Harry’s not there. Also, Louis is getting tired of sitting there alone looking like an idiot. Also, maybe Louis is a little bit scared of going in and talking to Harry again. Also, Louis is a pussy.

Fuck it, he thinks, and tugs at the sleeves of his sweater as he braces himself for the upcoming battle. With a burst of warmth, he’s inside. His usual booth is empty. It must be a sign, it has to be.

Louis gets distracted by a girl with bright pink hair dancing across from him, and almost misses the deep voice from behind the counter talking to him. When he looks up, Harry’s smiling at him, all dimples and teeth.

“Louis,” he greets. “What can I get you?”

He moves his hand in a lazy wave, “the usual.”

Harry pours him a shot of Whiskey and stays put in front of Louis. The pub is practically deserted, so maybe they will get the chance to talk for more than five minutes without Harry having to actually work. Louis’ phone burns in his pocket. It’s too early to ask for a number, though. They aren’t there yet.

Yet.

“My mate told me you came around the other day,” Harry says slowly. “Are you sure you’re not coming here just for the drinks?”

Louis snorts his brains out. “Please. I could get better Whiskey at Tesco. Is your mate the Irish lad?”

“Yeah, that’s him. He owns the bar, so.”

Harry’s wearing a black shirt with white hearts on it. He looks even better than last time, if that’s even possible. Louis wants to touch his hair, just once, run his fingers through it, pull it. Harry’s too pretty and Louis hasn’t slept with anyone in more time than he’d like to admit. It’s a bad combination.

Louis twirls the whiskey around. “I don’t know if I should be talking to you.”

Harry frowns, pink lips turn into a pout, “and why is that?”

“You thought my name was Pierre. I’m still feeling a little wounded,” Louis says.

“Just so we’re even, I’ll let you guess my middle name. How’s that?” Harry grins, “you get only one clue. It starts with an E.”

_Fuck, that’s tough. What name goes well with Harry? Edgar? Edwin? Ethan?_

“Eric?” Louis ventures.

Harry barks out a laugh, god he’s so beautiful, “Thank god not.”

“What about… Eliot?”

“Should I just tell you?” Harry asks, coughs into his hand and laughs some more. “It’s so easy…”

“It’s Edgar, isn’t it?”

“Edward.” Harry corrects, “But nice try.”

Louis raises his eyebrow, drinks his whiskey. “Harry Edward…”

“Styles.” Harry finishes, pours Louis another shot without asking. Cheeky. “Now it’s your turn, what’s your middle name?”

Louis smirks. “I thought you were going to guess? It’s really easy. Starts with a W”

Harry blinks. “William.”

“Bingo!”

They don’t say anything for a while and Louis feels okay, more okay than he has felt in years. He wants to reach out and pull Harry in for a hug, maybe a kiss. Great, the whiskey’s finally making his brain go up in flames.

“And your last name?” Harry asks eventually. “It’s only fair, since you know mine.”

Louis’ body involuntarily freezes. It’s his last name, after all, but it still brings back a flood of memories he would rather forget about.

“Tomlinson,” he manages to mumble.

Harry flicks his tongue, pink, pink, pink. Louis shakes his head. He’s not a teenage girl, but it’s true he hasn’t gotten some in a while. This is happening because Louis is sexually frustrated, or at least frustrated enough for his dick to get excited at the glimpse of a fucking tongue. The fact that Harry’s hands are three times the size of Louis’ may or may not make his belly pool with heat. It’s all the whiskey’s fault.

Harry is about to say something when the blonde Irish lad aka the owner of the bar aka Harry’s friend appears and ruffles Harry’s hair and okay, maybe Louis’ brain goes gooey with envy but it’s just because Harry’s curls are lovely. Harry’s very lovely.

“I see you’ve finally found what you were looking for the other day, Louis,” the guy says. “You better take care of my boy.”

Harry’s face is red. “Oh my God, Niall shut up.”

Niall, apparently, frowns. “What? I thought you’d already asked him out and shit, what with your constant talking about his beautiful eyes and his a-“

Harry cuts him off mortified. “Niall, I think that lad over there is waiting for his drink.”

“So? Go pour him one then.”

“It’s my day off, and this is your bar.”

Niall frowns, “oh right. Well,” he looks at Louis and says, “no funny business in here.”

Louis chokes on his drink, completely embarrassed. Niall turns away and starts talking to another costumer. Harry’s face looks like it’s about to explode. _With your constant talking about his beautiful eyes…_ Maybe Louis isn’t the only one here who hasn’t gotten laid in a while.

“So,” he says, “why are you working on your free day?”

Harry smiles shyly and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m not here to pour drinks, maybe I’m here for the company.”

“Glad to hear that.” Louis chokes out through his smile. “What time do you get off?”

Harry smirks. “Why? Want to watch?”

 _Oh sweet Jesus_. Louis is so out of shape for this type of flirting and Harry is so bashful. It spells trouble. In capital letters and several exclamation marks. If they kept this up Louis work pants would have cum stains all over them by the time he got Harry’s number.

“I have to stay and help Niall close. But, maybe… you could give me your number?” Harry asks as he fishes for his phone in his pocket.

Louis makes a mental note to buy Liam and Zayn the most expensive wine bottle he can find. “Yes, sure.”

Harry grins as Louis hands him his phone with slightly shaky hands. Harry flicks it on, taps at the screen for a minute and then hands it back. Louis bites back a grin and lifts the shot to his lips absolutely marveling in how Harry’s staring at his mouth. Niall comes back after a bit, smiling fondly at Harry as he reaches to ruffle Harry’s already messy hair. He looks like a lion, Louis thinks, but also like a little cat you’d find in an alley. Fierce and sweet, it actually works.

“I hate to interrupt you, lovebirds,” Niall says with a stern look on his face that ends up looking comical instead of apologetic. “But I need some help with those lads over there. The girl asked for a… What is it called? A Lava Flew?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “A Lava Flow.”

Niall shrugs. “Whatever. I don’t even know what it is, so. It sounds like it’s got too much sugar in it anyways,” he says with a scrunched up nose.

“Oi, so you’re a hard liquor man,” Louis notes. “I wouldn’t have been able to tell.”

“Well.” Niall says as he pushes Harry towards the other end of the bar, where the girl is sitting. “I am Irish after all.”

Harry throws him an apologetic look from across the bar as he gets started on the Lava Flow. It turns out it’s a pink beverage, with too little rum and too much fruit for Louis’ liking. Harry’s charming, sweet talking to the girl he’s making the drink for and her friends, and Louis really wants to kiss him right now but instead just shoots him a smile and finishes his drink. It’s time to go home anyways.

And maybe he didn’t get a kiss tonight, but the promise of Harry’s number in his phone makes his body tingle all the way to his flat.

 

*

 

It’s 9:23 at night when Louis’ phone rings, startling him awake from his place on the couch. He had dozed off again to a black and white movie, could his life become any more pathetic? He’s more than pleasantly surprised to see Harry’s name on the screen.

“Hello?” he says as he stretches from his afternoon-slash-evening nap.

“Hey. Louis.” Harry’s deep voice answers.

“This is Harry, from the pub.”

Louis rolls his eyes even though Harry can’t see him. “Sorry mate, I don’t recall giving my number to a Harry.”

“Oh,” comes in as a reply and Louis can hear Harry’s frown from here. “Yeah, sorry. I’ll just-“

“I’m joking,” Louis says. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. I was just wondering if you’d like to go out for lunch tomorrow. With me.”

“Yeah, maybe. I need more details to make an informed decision.”

“The new restaurant four blocks from the pub called The meating.”

“I see. And what time should we meet?”

“Uh, at noon?” Harry’s smiling, Louis can tell.

“It’s a yes from me.”

“Oh fuck off,” Harry laughs, “Who are you, Simon Cowell’s kid?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. At noon.”

“On the dot,” Harry promises.

Louis hangs up without saying goodbye.

 

*

 

The restaurant is four blocks away from Louis’ flat. When he turns around the corner he sees Harry’s already waiting for him outside. He has the tightest pair of jeans Louis has ever seen, combined with a Pink Floyd t-shirt and a beanie. He’s standing there, pigeon toed with his hands clasped behind his back, and he looks so good.

Louis walks up to him. “Hi,” it’s all he says.

Harry smiles, all dimples, “Should we go inside now, Pierre?”

“Absolutely, Edgar.”

Like a true gentleman, Harry holds the door open for him and steps ahead to get to their table first. It’s in a small corner of the room, and Louis thanks good there’s not a lot of people. Harry pulls out Louis’ chair for him and smiles.

“Ah,” he says as he takes a sit. “I feel like I’m in a Taylor Swift music video.”

Harry laughs, “which one mate? Should I be concerned?”

“I don’t know the name of the song, I’m not _that_ gay. Something about _walked in expecting you’d be late…_ ”

“ _But you got here early and you stand and wave… You pull my chair out..._ ” Harry hums, “Maybe I am Taylor Swift and the hair is just a wig.”

Louis shakes his head, says, “Nah, it’s too pretty to be fake.”

“You’re pretty,” Harry says without missing a beat.

“I know. I’ve been told so before.”

They both pick up their menus and read in silence for a bit, and Louis catches a glimpse of Harry’s rosy cheeks before the waitress is making her way towards them.

After dinner, Harry asks Louis if he’s ever had a white mocha, and when Louis shakes his head and says no Harry orders two.

“So what do you do, besides serving drinks and looking beautiful from behind the counter?” Louis asks suddenly.

Harry shrugs. “I’m studying English at Westminster. Or I was, up until two months ago.”

“What happened? Got tired of reading old boring books?”

Their mochas arrive. Louis takes a long sip, watches Harry take a sip of his. Maybe, just maybe, Louis has a thing for pink lips. He wonders what would Harry taste like if he kissed him now.

“I dropped out, it just wasn’t my thing. I’ll pick it up next year, or not. I don’t know.” Harry makes a cut off motion with his hand. “Whatever. Yourself?”

Louis tries not to fidget. It’s an easy question with an easy answer, not a big deal. It’s shocking how after a year it’s still a struggle to talk about himself, even about the silly bits. Shocking _and_ pathetic.

“I work at an office, it’s kinda like a law firm.” Louis says.

Harry wiggles his eyebrows. “You don’t look like a lawyer.”

“That because I’m not.” Louis laughs. “My mate Liam got the job for me. I do some paperwork now and then, I mean, it’s not great but it pays the rent so.”

 _When I was a kid I wanted to be a teacher_ , Louis wants to say, but doesn’t. _When I was a kid I wanted so much more than this._

“What’s your favourite writer? Impress me,” he says instead.

Harry’s eyes light up. “Thoreau, Bukowski, Dickens… It’s hard to choose one.”

“What matters most is how well you walk through the fire,” Louis quotes.

“Bukowski. Obviously.”

“How come you’re working in a pub, then? Don’t you need like, skills to mix drinks and shit?”

Harry scoffs, “I’m very good at mixing drinks, for your information. Not that you would know since all you drink is that shitty whiskey Niall lives for.”

“Excuse me? Are you honestly saying a Lava Flow is better than some Jack Daniels in a cold winter morning? I don’t think so,” Louis says.

Harry doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he looks up at Louis through his eyelashes and smiles. “God, you’re so…”

“Amazing? Funny? Beautiful?”Louis supplies.

“All of the above,” Harry tells him.

After finishing their coffees they walk down the street together their hands brushing and then Harry tangles their fingers together. Louis tries his best not to blush, but he’s only human. By the time they make it to the front of Louis’ flat Harry has told him about how he met Niall a year before he started Uni, how they became inseparable even though Harry had to leave to study and Niall staid around to rent a place and make it into a pub. Harry’s got an older sister, Gemma, and his mother’s name is Anne. Louis doesn’t ask about his father.

“Are you French?” Harry asks out of the blue, as they stand in front of Louis place.

“No. Why?”

“Because Eiffel for you.”

Louis laughs so hard his lungs almost come out of his mouth. Harry’s standing there, looking at him with a soft smile and his hands buried in his jeans pockets. It should be against the law, Louis thinks wildly, to look so gorgeous after making such a bad pun.

“That’s probably the worst thing I have ever heard,” Louis says still breathing heavily, and his stomach aches from laughing so hard.

“I googled pick up lines after we met at the pub,” Harry admits with a bashful grin, “I hope they’re working.”

“Trying to get into my pants?” Louis says, trying to sound scandalized, “I’ll have you know I’m not that kind of boy.”

“Oh, no. You’re a very posh boy, Lou.” Harry replies and leans forward.

When Harry touches his jaw, Louis tries not to flinch. Neither of them blink. And then they’re kissing. Harry grips Louis by the hips and pulls him in, he tastes like sugar and the mocha he just drank. Louis’s hand curl up around Harry’s shoulders, and he just holds on letting Harry slide his tongue inside his mouth, and smiles into the kiss. Louis can barely breathe through the wave of heat that swallows him when Harry’s hand leaves his hip and meets his hair, pulling at it.

When Louis pulls back, barely an inch away really, he looks up at Harry to find him wide eyed and smiling. This is what youth tastes like, Louis thinks, this is it.

Harry dips his head to kiss him again sweetly, his big thumb stroking Louis’ cheek.

“We should do this again,” Harry murmurs against his lips.

“Yeah,” Louis says and pulls away, “we should.”

For the first time in twelve months Louis climbs the stairs smiling, and doesn’t think about the elevator at all. He’s too busy thinking about Harry’s pink, plush lips. He has barely made it inside his flat when his phone vibrates against his thigh.

**_Saturday, 8 p.m. Dinner at my place? I’ll text you the address Xx_ **

_**Yes**_ , Louis types, _**I’ll bring the wine ;)**_

He gets changed into a pair of sweats as he waits for a response. By the time he brushes his teeth and gets into bed Zayn has texted him twice asking Louis if he knows how long it takes to boil an egg. When he’s replying to Zayn a text from Harry pops up.

**_Just bring yourself xx_ **

 

*

 

“I think I have a date.” Louis says on Friday when they’re lazing around in Zayn’s flat.

Liam’s eyes fly open and he sits upright where he was slouching over on the couch. Even Zayn, who Louis has never even seen look surprised, blinks at him strangely. There are Chinese takeaway boxes everywhere, along with beer cans and a shitty football match on the telly.

“Louis- What?”

“I met this guy,” Louis tells them, rolls his eyes and tries really hard to bite back a smile. “It’s nothing serious, but. I don’t know, I was hoping you’d tell me what to wear and shit.”

Liam gapes at him, says, “Where did you meet him?”

“At a stripper club, obviously,” Louis jokes. “In a pub, Li. Where else would I have met him?"

“He could have been in one of your courses,” Zayn butts in. “Hell, you could have met him at a stripper club.” Louis snorts. “Yeah, okay. I am surprised by the lack of advice you are giving me, friends.”

“Are you going out? To a club or something?” Zayn asks, “I’m a bit dusty when it comes to outdoor experiences.”

Louis ducks his head. “We’re having dinner at his place. Tomorrow.”

Liam and Zayn exchange a long look, then turn around to face him. Both of their faces split into a grin, and yeah, Louis should definitely start looking for some new friends.

“Someone’s getting laid tomorrow.”

 

*

 

Harry’s flat is very nice. He lives on the fourth floor, so Louis is glad to find out the elevator does work in this building. Harry’s already smiling when he opens the door, curls lovely and eyes bright.

“Hey Pierre,” Harry says and steps away to let Louis in.

“Hello Edgar,” Louis replies, hands over the bottle of wine Liam helped him choose, “how have you been lately?”

Harry laughs, head tilted back and curls bouncing, and grabs Louis elbow to pull him close. He presses a chaste, sweet kiss to Louis mouth. It’s just a quick peck, but leaves Louis feeling hot all over.

Louis thinks he could do this forever, just kiss Harry and watch him laugh. But no, this is not a forever thing, not even close. Those kind of things don’t work out for Louis. Besides, they just met. Harry’s lovely, yeah, but this isn’t a serious, steady thing. Louis doesn’t think so, at least.

“For a second I thought you were going to bring a bottle of Jack Daniels,” Harry tells him, leading the way to the kitchen. “since all I’ve seen you have is whiskey. I’m going to dine you properly tonight”

Louis winks at him. “Hit me with your best shot, Mr. Styles.”

It’s new seeing Harry outside of the bar, so as soon as he turns around to check the oven Louis takes a good look at him. Harry’s two heads taller than Louis, he’s wearing old Chelsea boots, dark skinny jeans and a white t-shirt that hangs low enough for Louis to his collarbones. Harry looks hot, as usual. Louis hops onto the counter and watches as Harry cooks.

Whatever it is they’re going to eat smells like heaven. He’s been living on Frosties and frozen meals, so even if it turns out to be the shittiest homemade dinner ever it’ll still be great in Louis’ eyes.

From what he was able to peek from the doorway, Harry lives alone. The flat is quite big and the kitchen has a set of windows that let the moonlight right in. It’s really Harry too, cozy and very pretty. Louis feels at ease.

“You do realize I still don’t know where you’re from, right? It’s impolite to withhold that kind of information,” Louis says as Harry takes out two glasses from the cupboard and opens pours Louis’ wine in them.

“Cheshire,” Harry says handing him the glass of wine, “I’m a north west boy.”

“Interesting. It doesn’t hold a candle to Yorkshire, though. I hope you know that.”

“Where exactly in Yorkshire are you from?” Harry asks, “It’s impolite to withhold such information.”

“Doncaster,” Louis replies, making sure his voice doesn’t break. “Yourself? No, wait. Let me guess. Knustfrod?”

Harry laughs and steps into the v of Louis legs. “You really suck at this guessing thing”

“Let me remind you that you thought my name was Pierre.” Louis says, takes a sip of his wine, “besides that’s the only place in Cheshire I could think of.”

“Homes Chapel,” Harry grins. His fingers look obscenely long wrapped around his glass.

The timer goes off and Harry steps away from Louis to check the oven. Against one off the white walls there’s a black clock and some photos pinned around it. From what Louis can see the people in the pictures are Harry’s mom and sister, maybe a grandmother too. No sight of his dad. Louis doesn’t say anything about that either.

“I hope you like pizza,” Harry says and turns around holding out the pizza, steaming and looking fantastic, in a wooden peel. He walks out of the kitchen, Louis trailing behind him like a puppy, and puts the pizza down on the living room table.

“Pizza is the best, and it’s homemade,” Louis notes, “I thought people making their own pizza was just a myth.”

Harry laughs, and it’s a beautiful sound. Louis wishes he could hear him all the time. “Want to hear a pizza related pick up line?”

“Mate, I don’t think you need to use pick-up lines with me. I’m kind of a sure thing by now.” Louis says when they sit down by the table “but yeah, go ahead.”

“Never mind, it’s too cheesy.”

Louis puts his hand over his mouth to drown a giggle. He watches as Harry cuts the pizza and plates it, pours more wine and winks at Louis. It’s crazy how lucky Louis feels right now, warm and cosy in Harry’s flat, but it’s hard to stomp on the recurrent feeling that he doesn’t get to keep someone like Harry. Good things don’t work out for Louis, and Harry is a really, really good thing.

“I like how small your hands are,” Harry strokes his thumb over the back of Louis’ hand, “they’re delicate.”

“No, they’re manly. Rugged, calloused, other hard and manly things,” Louis supplies but doesn’t move his hand from Harry’s.

“Nice try love, but they aren’t.”

“Yours are massive,” Louis blurts out.

“Well,” Harry smirks and drinks some wine, his Adam’s apple jumping, “you know what they say about big hands and big feet.”

Who even cares if this lasts or not? Right now this is more than Louis could have ever dared to ask for, an amazing dinner with a funny, cute guy who actually listens to what he has to say and can keep up with the dirty jokes. Even if they have sex tonight- and that’s a huge if- and never see each other again Louis thinks he’s had enough Harry to last him for eternity.

Louis can’t help but grin. “And you surely know about the L rule. It’s more effective in my case because I’m Louis and two heads shorter than you.”

Harry doesn’t respond, he just swallows and gives Louis’ fingers a dangerous squeeze.

 

*

 

After dinner, Louis demands to see Harry’s bedroom and king sized bed, which is as big as Louis whole flat. Most likely, anyway. It’s got dark maroon sheets and a creamy white duvet and a set of decorative pillows that Louis could die on. Tonight might be a good night.

Louis sits on the edge of the bed and looks up at Harry, who’s moved to stand right in front of him. There’s not enough air in this fucking room. And then Harry’s hand finds the hinges of Louis’ jaw, fingers moving to brush against Louis’ lips…

“Do you like it?” Harry asks after a while of staring into Louis’ eyes. “The bed, I mean.”

“I reckon I’d like it better with you in it.”

“Is that so?” Harry asks, already leaning down to kiss Louis.

It’s nothing like the other kisses they’ve shared. It’s hot, and needy, and with so much tongue. Harry still tastes like the red wine they’ve had for dinner, sweet and sugary, when he pushes Louis backwards to the bed and stays over him, both of his elbows at the sides of Louis’ head. Their teeth get in the way, but when Harry kneads at Louis’ belt as if saying this has to go everything inside him catches fire. Harry kisses him once more before standing up to wiggle out off his skinny jeans and boxers.

His white t-shirt stays on.

“Your cock is massive,” Louis manages to say through the lust that’s currently fogging the walls of his skull, “It’s-“

Harry cuts him off with a wet, sticky kiss. Louis’ brain burns completely up when Harry undoes his belt and slides the jeans down Louis’ thighs, throws them on the floor and then practically rips Louis’ boxers offl, his dick’s already semi-hard.

“You’re so pretty,” Harry half groans half says as he helps Louis out of his shirt, “I want to eat you up.”

Harry rolls them over until he’s on his back, staring up at Louis through his eyelashes. He doesn’t break eye contact as he stretches to open the drawer of his nightstand, fishing out a condom and a blue bottle of lube.

“I want to ride you,” Louis moans against Harry’s chest.

Harry doesn’t reply, but sits up and holds Louis on his lap with a strong arm under his bum. Louis’ cock brushes against Harry’s and fuck, how come Louis spent months without doing this, just a quick jerk off session in his shower every now and then?

Louis hears Harry taking the tap off the lube bottle and watches him soak his hand with it, fingers slick and long in the barely lit up room and Louis’ moans are obscene when he feels Harry brushing them against his hole slowly opening him up. Harry’s free hand meets Louis’ nipple and the world stops for a minute.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers, darling,” Harry mumbles against Louis cheekbone, two fingers in.

Louis bites down on Harry’s shoulder as he lowers himself to meet Harry’s fingers.

It’s hot and slow, the kind of prepping up Louis’ never had before. When lube starts to drip from Louis hole, Harry adds a third finger.

“Mm,” Louis sounds, tightens his legs around Harry’s waist, “oh my god.”

Harry just grins and scissors his fingers inside Louis, which is what sends him over the edge, making him hump against Harry’s stomach to get some friction.

“Are you ready, Lou?” Harry asks and kisses him hard on the mouth, enough to leave him dizzy, “ready for my cock, love?”

“Yes, yes,” Louis chants and maybe he _is_ a fifteen year old with a massive crush after all. “Please,” he adds after a second.

That seems to do it for Harry. He holds Louis’ up by the hips while he rolls on a condom, guides himself to meet Louis’ rim and lets him get used to the feeling, lets Louis do all the work.

As he eases himself on Harry’s dick he thinks _fuckfuckfuck, big hands, big feet, big fucking_ cock.

“Harry.” Louis says, taking inch after inch, “Harry-“

“C’mon love, ride me,” Harry moans, his left hand reaching for Louis’ dick. He wraps his hand around it, thumbs over the head and cleans off the precum.

Louis brain is completely gone, done, dead. His hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead as he speeds up, clenches around Harry tight enough to make him moan and thrust in deeper. When Harry nibbles at Louis’ neck he completely loses it, and it all turns to a blurry mess. He can faintly hear himself saying gonna come, Harry, make me come to which Harry replies with a kiss, and then Louis is coming, spilling all over Harry’s chest completely blissed out.

Harry pulls out though, just when Louis is reaching paradise, probably to meet God, and gently pushes him off the bed, so that he’s sitting on the edge and Louis is kneeling in front of his cock. Harry green eyes cloud over when he presses his cock to Louis’ lips and Louis just opens and swallows him, cheeks hollowing around his cock as he moans.

“Lou, Lou, Lou,” Harry breathes, saying his name like a prayer, “Oh my- _Louis_.”

Louis moans again around Harry’s cock, pulls away enough to kiss the top of the head and look up at Harry through his eyelashes, hands clasped behind his back.

Harry comes all over his face, breathing so heavily Louis thinks he might be having an asthma attack. He pulls Louis up to the bed again, laying on his back and pressing him close to his sticky chest. Without saying a word Harry grabs his t-shirt and puts it over Louis’ head. It smells like sunshine.

The world is spinning faster than usual, Louis thinks wildly as he licks his lips and gets a taste of Harry’s salty cum, and it’s spinning so fast he’s surprised the furniture hasn’t moved with the force of it.

“You’re so pretty,” Harry mumbles against his hair as he grabs a Kleenex from his nightstand to clean Louis’ face, “I’m glad we met.”

Louis doesn’t say anything because he can’t speak. His tongue is tied in a tight knot and his whole body feels like it’s made of jelly, trembling in Harry’s arms as he cuddles closer. He’s really, really glad they met.

 

*

 

When he wakes up in the morning, it’s still early and he’s curled up against Harry’s chest, his head tucked under Harry’s chin, and he lays awake listening to his soft snores. Their legs are tangled together, and from where he’s pressed to Harry’s side Louis has a perfect view of the dried cum all over Harry’s belly. It makes him feel hot all over again.

Harry wakes up a few minutes after that, yawning and tightening his grip on Louis. They don’t say anything for a while and even when Harry’s insane body heat starts to make Louis sweaty he doesn’t pull away. Sunlight crawls through the big bedroom windows, which have a lovely view of the busy London streets.

“Good morning,” Harry murmurs and Louis can feel the vibrations of Harry’s voice against his ear.

“I expect some breakfast,” Louis replies, “and a spare toothbrush.”

Harry laughs and traces weird shapes on Louis back, his fingers long and lean against Louis’ skin and it makes Louis think of last night, how those same fingers were-

_Fuck._

“There’s an unused toothbrush in the cabinet under the sink,” Harry says, “What do you want for brekkie?”

Louis turns in Harry’s arms to look into his face. Harry’s hair is a mess, sleep tousled and it looks like someone – _Louis_ \- pulled it rather roughly, but he’s still soft with sleep and no less beautiful than Louis has ever seen him looking.

“Bacon. Can we have some? Every time I try to do it at my place I end up burning it.” Louis says.

Harry giggles and thumbs at Louis’ cheek. “How do you even burn bacon?”

“Not all of us are professional cooks, H.”

“H? Well, that’s new.”

Louis smiles at him.

“Can’t say I don’t like it.”

Louis pulls away and sits up on the bed, stretches and says, “I want that bacon by the time I’m out of the bathroom.”

Harry jumps up the bed. “Yes, sir”

Louis hears him say before disappearing into the bathroom.

 

*

 

Harry’s only in his boxers when Louis steps into the kitchen, swimming in Harry’s shirt and a clean pair of boxers he found sitting on the bed when he got out of the bathroom. The air around him smells like toast and bacon.

“Those shrunk when I washed them,” Harry says and points at the boxers Louis is wearing, “I thought they may fit you. Yours are kind of, um.”

“Ripped? Thanks.” Louis says and hops on the counter like he did last night as he watched Harry making dinner. “Is my bacon done? A hungry man is an angry man.”

Harry sets a plate of bacon strips and a pile of toasts at the side on the counter next to Louis’ thigh. “I like you in my clothes,” he says. Louis picks up a strip of bacon and takes a huge, exaggerated bite. Then, he moans to reinforce the idea that it tastes amazing. Harry looks very smug about it as he reaches out to place his ridiculous large hands at the sides of Louis’ waist. “

I think I like your cooking skills more than I like you.”

“Impossible.”

“You’re right. It’s the power of the curls.”

“And my bad puns.”

Louis takes the cup of tea Harry hands him. “That I could live without.”

Harry leans forward between Louis’ legs and kisses him, sweet and lazy. Louis wants to crawl back to bed with him and sleep until the next day. Instead, he kisses Harry back just as lazily.

“C’mon love,” Harry says and Louis most definitely does not melt inside at the petname, “let’s veg out in front of the telly for a while.”

“Only if you carry me there,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s shoulder, “all that riding really tired me out.”

Harry’s laugh is magical.

 

*

 

Liam’s already waiting for him on the sofa when Louis steps into his flat a few hours later. Louis considers ignoring Liam until he goes away, but he knows Liam enough to know he isn’t just going to walk out on Louis if there’s something he wants to tell him, or something he needs. After dropping his keys into the little box by the door Louis lets himself fall on the couch next to Liam.

“How did your date with Mistery Boy go?” Liam asks as he watches Louis toeing off his shoes, points at the white t-shirt from Harry Louis is wearing. “Nice shirt, by the way.”

“It was great. Should I ask how you got in or just assume you used the spare key?”

Liam doesn’t even blink. “I never got the chance to ask you, if you’re really okay with the phone thing. I know you were scared-“

“I’m okay with it, thanks,” Louis cut him off. “Why are you here?”

If Liam wanted to ask Louis if he was uncomfortable with having a phone again after months of being disconnected from the rest of the world, then Liam would have just fucking called or texted him asking if they could talk about it. Liam’s not here to discuss Louis’ new phone. Liam’s not here to talk about the weather, or ask Louis how his date went. They may as well get it over with now.

“I don’t want to push you Lou,” Liam says softly, “and I know this is something you have to decide for yourself. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it alone, you know?”

Louis focuses on breathing.It’s been twelve months, twelve fucking months and the thought of talking about it makes his eyes prickle and he’s so ashamed, so angry that he can’t even voice it. Right now he kind of just wants to crawl into bed and sleep until tomorrow morning, maybe even swing by the pub when he gets back from the office. Louis doesn’t want to do this now, again, ever.

“There’s nothing to decide, alright? Please just- let’s drop it.”

Liam looks at him with soft eyes, pity, pity, pity. “We all make mistakes, Lou. Maybe she…”

 _Shut the fuck up_ , Louis screams in his mind, _shut up, shut up, shut up._

Louis gets up from the couch and walks into the bathroom, slams the door shut behind him and puts the lock on. Liam doesn’t even try to break in, so Louis strips and gets into the shower with the water on scalding hot, slapping against his skin and turning it an angry shade of red. It’s nothing compared to the way his heart burns.

 

*

 

“I said no monkey business in here lads!” Niall shrieks when Harry leans over the counter and kisses Louis. It’s a Tuesday night, the pub is mostly empty except for some regulars and Louis, so Niall should be grateful Louis is even paying to drink his shitty whiskey in the first place.

“Oh fuck off,” Harry laughs, “you know you’ve been dying to watch this happen.”

Niall just huffs and looks at Louis.“And you, criticizing my amazing whiskey. You’re gonna pay for that cunt.”

“You told him I said I could get better whiskey at Tesco?” Louis whines dramatically, “Harry how could you?”

Niall yelps. “You said what?”

“I left out the Tesco part and went with a subtle _Lou doesn’t really like your whiskey mate_ ,” Harry says. “I think you just dug your own grave.”

Louis looks at Niall, whose eyes are wide open and blinking furiously, his whole face is a dark shade of pink.

“Protect me Harry!” Louis wails as he watches Niall’s hands turning into dramatically tight fists.

“From what?” Harry asks curiously. “From Niall’s scrawny arms?”

Niall gives a loud cry at that. “I’m done, I’m seriously done with both of you. You’re lucky this Friday is an open mic night Harry, and it’s gonna be busy as fuck in here, or else you’d be already on the str-“

“Open mic night?” Louis repeats. “As in get up on a stage and sing?”

“Basically yeah,” Harry answers.

“Why? Are you interested?” Louis shakes his head and laughs. He can’t sing for shit, but Zayn can.

“One of my friends is a really good singer, maybe he could-“

Niall cuts him off. “Yes, whatever, just bring some girls along okay? This place is turning into a gay club or something.”

“Niall’s getting a little bit desperate, you see.” Harry jokes, and reaches out to ruffle Niall’s hair. “He hasn’t gotten some in a while and-“

“Ha, ha, ha. Hilarious.” Niall says wryly, “Fuckwits, both of you.”

 

 

*

 

The pub is full of people on Friday. Louis squeezes his way in between Liam and Zayn and is fairly surprised to find his name on the list of people that can get in without making a line or wait until one of the booths empties. He’ll have to thank Harry for that later.

“I’ve never been here before,” Liam comments as they make their way to the already too crammed counter. “S’nice.”

Zayn is tapping away at his phone. “Ed’s already here. I hope this time he actually remembers to bring his guitar.”

Liam howls with laughter at the memory. “Remember when we had paid like a fifty pounds each at that place by the station to see you perform and then Ed forgot to bring his guitar? And you couldn’t sing acapella so we had to go home?”

“Yes, Liam, I do remember that beautiful day.” Zayn snaps, “It’s not going to happen again tonight though.”

“Someone’s a little bit nervous,” Louis coos and nudges Zayn in the stomach.

Zayn rolls his eyes at them and tries not to step on anyone as they walk. “Whatever. Where’s your lover boy, Lou? Are you sure you didn’t’ make him up?”

“I don’t know. He said he’d be-“

And then Louis sees him. Harry’s wearing a black t-shirt under a leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. He’s talking to some costumers and pouring colorful drinks that look almost as good as he does. Louis’ mouth is suddenly dry. Harry’s curls look lovely even under the pub’s shitty lights and his eyelashes are black, and thick even from this distance and-

“Is that him?” Liam asks, thumb pointed towards Harry. Louis nods and involuntarily steps closer.

He wants to kiss Harry and drag him home, drink red wine from his dimples and bellybutton. Louis is _so_ gone.

“Aye!” Niall yells at them from behind Harry. “Louis I told you to bring some girls!”

Louis walks towards them and flashes Niall a smile. Zayn and Liam stand at his sides probably looking more threatening than they really are. When Harry sees him his whole face goes soft and it’s not after a couple of seconds that he seems to realize Louis is not alone.

“Hey,” Harry says and smiles at them. “I’m Harry.”

Of course Liam and Zayn already know that. Louis couldn’t stop talking about him when he got home from their third date at the coffee shop Zayn likes so much. So what if he babbled on the phone with Liam about Harry for the next two hours? So what if he texted Zayn a dozen silly things he likes about Harry? So. Fucking. What.

“I’m Liam, and this is Zayn,” Liam supplies when Louis doesn’t say anything.

“And Louis,” Louis says dopily.

Harry laughs, “I know love, I remember,” he says. “What can I get for you?”

“No way!” Niall chirps in, “You can get Liam and Zayn whatever they want, on the house. But Louis doesn’t get shit.”

“Not even some of your shitty whiskey?” Louis asks with a smirk just to watch Niall get more upset.

“Don’t worry,” Harry whispers to him when Niall is too busy cursing at him to listen. “I’ll sneak you some.”

“I fucking heard that, Styles!”

“I want a beer,” Liam announces and Harry nods.

“Would it be weird is I asked for a water bottle?” Zayn says. “I don’t want to fuck up my performance tonight with a burning throat.”

Niall’s eyes look like they’re about to fall of his head. He stumbles towards the other end of the bar, mumbling. “What is wrong with these people? First they say the whiskey’s shit and now they’re asking for water, in a bloody _pub_ …”

“Don’t mind him,” Harry tells them as he hands Liam his beer and Zayn a water bottle. “He’s a lovely guy most of the time, really.”

“Hey, what about my whiskey?” Louis whines. “I’m leaving if you don’t give me a shot.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at him, says, “Turns out you are here for the drinks after all.”

“Fuck you, Edgar.” Louis says and sticks out his tongue at him.

“Edgar?” Zayn asks suddenly. “I thought your name was Harry…”

“It’s a long story, okay?” Louis cuts him off. “Long and stupid.”

“Pierre is right, Zayn.” Harry replies with a grin, dimples out and turns to Louis. “I’ll see you when my shift’s done, right?” he adds just for Louis.

“Yeah,” Louis says a little out of breath, “Maybe we could-“

“This fucking show is about to start and I can’t find Ed,” Zayn moans like a child and bangs his forehead against the counter. “Why did I even agree to do this?”

Liam sips his beer, says, “because we wanted to meet Harry and see if it was true he had such lovely curls, and dimples and a mouth so-“

Louis steps on Liam’s foot, hard. Zayn laughs so hard his eyes get watery.

“Well, it is true.” Harry chuckles. “I have to get back to work, but once the whole thing’s over I’ll find you, alright?”

It’s going to be a long night.

 

*

 

It’s past midnight when Harry finally emerges from the bar and comes up to Louis. Zayn steps on the little stage Niall has somehow been able to put together, with Ed at his heels. They play a cover of a slow song Zayn showed them months ago on Youtube. Ed’s fingers move skillfully through the notes on his guitar, and even some of the lads on the front of the little crowd that has formed in front of the stage sing along to some parts of the song. Zayn’s voice wraps around the whole place like a security blanket. Liam has found a nice girl and has his hand on her back dangerously low.

 _I don’t know where I belong, I don’t know where I went wrong._ Louis clenches his fists tight. It’s been a year and Louis does know where he went wrong.

Louis feels Harry come up from behind him, big hands find his hips and Harry pulls Louis in against him, chest to back. _I belong with you, you belong with me_. Harry swings them a little bit as they listen to Zayn’s voice. Everything disappears for a while. Louis thinks he may keep Harry around for a bit longer than just a shag.

“Do you want to come back to mine?” Harry whispers into his ear.

“Maybe. I need to check my agenda and see if I’m clear tonight.”

“You’re an awfully busy boy, huh?”

“A pretty one too.” Harry kisses the top of his head.

“Too pretty to go home alone, darling.”

“Does Niall hate me?” Louis asks out of the blue. “For saying that about his whiskey.”

“Not at all. He thinks you’re funny. It’s hard for Niall to dislike anyone.”

Louis slots his fingers with Harry’s and squeezes. “I’d like to go now, please.”

Zayn’s just finished the song. He and Ed take a vow and laugh as they get down from the stage. Louis should go up to him and congratulate him, but he doesn’t want to move from Harry’s arms. He’s tired and craving a bit of a cuddle and-hell, why not admit it, a blowjob. It’s been a wonderful night.

“I like your friends,” Harry murmurs. “I like you.”

“Lucky me. Now take me to that posh bed of yours.”

Harry grumbles against his neck but starts walking. “So demanding, you are.”

“And pretty.”

“And pretty,” Harry repeats.

 

*

 

Riding Harry was nothing compared to laying on his stomach, spread out on Harry’s duvet and dripping precum as Harry fucks him so slow he cries, clutching the sheets with white knuckles as he humps the mattress to get some friction. Harry spanks his ass and tells him to stop moving and Louis does because then Harry’s cock hits his prostate and everything goes to shit.

“Your ass,” Harry moans as he pushes in deeper, fucking Louis through his second orgasm of the night. “Oh god, god-“

“HarryHarry- please, fuck,” Louis cries out when he feels Harry pulling out completely.

Harry kisses him and the position is uncomfortable but Louis manages because Harry’s mouth tastes like sugar, and Louis feels like his whole body is buzzing with the intensity of this, of Harry being near and touching him. He watches as Harry throws the used condom into the rubbish bin next to the bed. Louis can’t move a single muscle.

“That was good,” he says. His throat feels like sandpaper and razorblades and broken glass altogether from Harry fucking his mouth earlier.

Harry kisses his forehead and covers them both with the duvet. “I like my body when it is with your body,” he recites softly against Louis’ neck. “It is so quite a new thing. Muscles better and nerves more.”

Louis barely has the energy to snort. “What’s that?”

“E. E Cummings,” Harry replies.

They lay in silence for a bit.

“Oh my god. Is that supposed to be a pun? Cummings?”

Harry just giggles against Louis’ hair.

 

 

*

 

They sleep together for over a month before Harry finally asks Louis what they are. Louis shakes it off as Harry trying to make a joke and says _humans_. The last month has been almost a dream to Louis, a blur of amazing sex and pints and friends and he knows the question would have come up sooner or later. Harry stares at him for a while before asking again.

“I don’t know, H. Whatever you want us to be,” Louis replies.

“I want to call you my boyfriend,” Harry says after a long pause. “I want to hold your hand in public and kiss you and I want to tell my family about you.”

Louis swallows. That’s what Harry thinks he wants, but Harry doesn’t know Louis. He thinks that they can just be boyfriends and have great sex and that they can be happy when in reality Louis knows Harry’s going to get tired of never knowing Louis. Or Louis’ past, to be more precise, because Louis is never going to want to talk about it. He can’t, he won’t. How can they ever work out if Louis isn’t honest with Harry?

The last boy Louis slept with didn’t even care about what Louis wanted or needed. He never held Louis’ hand, or stayed around after fucking Louis. In fact, Louis has never had a proper boyfriend, has never met anyone who treats him as well as Harry does. And before it didn’t matter, before, because at the end of the day there were people that treated Louis much worse. A dumb boy that made rude comments or didn’t prep Louis before he fucked him was nothing.

“I don’t know if- like, fuck. It won’t work out,” Louis says, watching Harry’s frown grow.

“Why?” Harry asks and his voice breaks. “It will.”

“Things are really nice as they are now. Can’t we just-“

Harry shakes his head, hurt. “No. I want it all, Lou. I don’t want to be friends with benefits.”

“Fuck, Harry. You know we’re more than that.”

“Are we really? We’re friends and we fuck. You don’t want to take it to the next-“

“It’s not that I don’t want to be your boyfriend,” Louis interrupts. “Because I do.”

“Then why can’t you? How do you know it’s not going to work out if you don’t even give it a go?” _Nothing good sticks with me_ , Louis wants to say. _These kind of stuff doesn’t work out for me._

“Okay,” Louis breathes out and nuzzles into Harry’s chest.

“Really?” Harry asks as he pets Louis’ hair. “Are you sure? If you really don’t want to…”

“I do. I just,” _know it’s not going to work_ , “got scared for a second.”

“Don’t be,” Harry rushes to say and then adds, “boyfriend.”

Louis tries his best not to panic.

 

*

 

“I want to put my head in the oven and turn on the gas,” Louis moans.

“Don’t go all Sylvia Plath on me love,” Harry says and kisses him on the cheek. “He’s going to like you, okay? There’s no way he won’t.”

Louis cuddles closer to Harry until there’s not space between them. They’ve got fifteen minutes before Harry’s friend comes over for dinner. Louis is an ugly kind of nervous, all sweaty palms and bleeding lip from biting so hard on it. If Harry’s friend doesn’t like Louis then it’s a sign, it’ll be like God’s holding up a sign that reads it’s never going to work, give it up.

“Tell me a joke, please.” Louis says and hides his face against Harry’s neck. “One of the bad ones.”

Harry holds him tighter. “Did you hear about the guy whose whole left side was cut off?” he asks. “He’s alright now.”

Louis laughs because it’s so bad. “That has to be worst one yet mate. I can’t believe- Where do you even find these puns?”

Harry shrugs, kind of, because Louis is lying almost completely on top of him. “I google them.”

Just when Louis is about to reply the doorbell rings, startling him. Fuckfuckfuck, it’s time, he’s going to meet this guy that Harry talks about like he hung the fucking moon and the stars in the sky, and everything is going to go to shit because he’s not going to like Louis. “Relax Lou,” Harry tells him as they walk out of the bedroom and towards the door.

“Nick’s going to like you, okay? And even if he doesn’t, I’ll still like you.”

Louis hides behind Harry when he opens the door to let Nick inside. All that Louis knows about him is that he runs the late radio shows in Harry’s uni, that they met before Harry was even thinking about dropping out and that Nick’s really, really gay. Louis is feeling rather small, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. Nick and Harry probably fucked at least once in that first year of uni. Harry probably rang Nick as soon as Louis was out the door the first time he stayed over and laughed and compared Louis’ body to Nick’s. Most likely, anyways.

“Grimmy!” Harry greets and hugs him like he always does, stooping over and patting Nick’s back with his hand. “S’good to see you.”

Nick steps inside, gives him a lazy smile, “well, I had to make sure your cock is being taken care of, Styles,” he says.

Harry had warned Louis about Nick’s sharp humor and unapologetic jokes but Louis still freezes behind Harry when he hears the comment. He hasn’t felt so vulnerable in a long time and it scares him how quickly he can go from being loud and brash to just quiet and empty. Louis has made a good job appearing bright and confident that for a while he truly believed he was those things.

“Where’s the French boy?” Nick asks as he shrugs off his coat and gives it to Harry. When he finally sees Louis he smiles. “Bonjour.”

Nick is even taller than Harry so Louis almost has to crane his neck to look at him. His hair is styled into the highest quiff Louis has ever seen. Not even Zayn takes it that far.

“Hi,” Louis says amicably but still hunches his shoulders trying to look smaller and fuck he hasn’t done that in more than a year.

“Cute,” Nick tells Harry and settles down on a living room chair. “And small. Where do you find them Harry? Amazon?”

Louis bites his tongue so hard it bleeds. This is Harry’s friend, this is Harry’s friend. Play nice and you’ll get some cock later, Louis thinks, it’s just dinner and then he’s gone.

“Harry said you work on the radio?” Louis asks, playing interested.

“Yeah, my goal is to work for the BBC someday but until then shitty uni radios will have to do.”

“Don’t lie Grimshaw,” Harry calls from the kitchen, “your only purpose in those uni radios is to get laid.”

Louis sees it coming.

“Well, it worked with you, didn’t it?”

Is this Harry’s idea of meeting the boyfriend’s best friend? In all the weeks they spent talking about Nick coming to visit had it never crossed Harry’s mind that he should mention he and Nick had fucked? Louis steers himself with a hand on the border of the table to keep from crumbling. Had it been more than a one night thing? Had they been in love? Had Harry told Nick the same things he’s told Louis?

“You wish it had,” Harry laughs.

Maybe Nick’s jokes are a bit meaner than Louis had predicted.

“What do you say Louis?” Nick winks at him, says “are you up to some threesome fun?”

Luckily for Louis, Harry replies first.“I know _I’m_ not.”

 

*

 

It takes Harry four more weeks to find out the scars.

They’re lying on Harry’s bed with their legs intertwined and Louis’ head on Harry’s chest. It’s a cool Saturday morning at the end of November. The night before they had stayed in and ate the best stew Louis had ever tasted, then had stumbled off to the bed and Harry had fucked Louis sweet and gently, before they finally fell asleep. Louis wakes up the next morning to Harry’s fingers tracing nonsensical patterns on the insides of his arms and Louis is too soft with sleep to remember and pull his arms away.

“Louis- what’s this?” Harry asks and thumbs at the scarred part of Louis’ wrist and his voice sounds so wrecked but not in the good way, not in the way Louis likes.

Louis can hear the blood freeze in his head, his heart stops for a second and then starts back at an alarming peace that briefly makes Louis think of a rabbit on coke. Louis forgets how to speak. Louis has stripped in front of Harry a dozen times by now, has had Harry on top of him, holding him from behind, has had Harry touch him everywhere except for there. They’re almost invisible, blurred away with the years and the stitches that had hold Louis’ flesh together. They’ve healed almost to perfection. Almost.

They’re impossible to miss once you touch them.

“Nothing,” Louis tries because maybe Harry will sense the desperation in his voice and drop it. Maybe Harry will believe him without much fuss. But Harry’s not stupid.

His fingers lock around Louis’ thin wrist to keep Louis from squirming his arm away. “This isn’t nothing,” he says, voice escalating into a high pitched sound.

Louis tries to tug his arm away, says, “fuck Harry, let go.”

“Not until you tell me what this is,” Harry snaps but loosens his grip.

“Look, it’s- it’s nothing.” Louis says again. _This can’t be happening_. “I don’t want to talk about it, alright?”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a while. Louis feels like he’s fifteen years old again, walking the tightrope and stumbling. He wants to tell Harry, press his lips to Harry’s ear and whisper the things he’s most scared of, the things that used to make him want to crawl under the bed and hide. But Louis isn’t strong enough to do it, probably will never be. He waits for Harry to tell him to get out.

“I love you,” Harry says instead, steady, calmly, sure. Louis finally gets his arm free and moves away from Harry. He remembers the way his stomach would clench when Lottie said I love you Lou, or when it was Fizzy, or the twins. When Jay said it. It’s nothing compared to the warmth that spreads inside him, like his blood has been replaced with stardust, when Harry says it.

“You don’t have to say it back Lou,” Harry continues. “I just want you to know, because I’m not going to pry anything out of you, alright? But I love you and you can talk to me. You know that.” Harry opens his arms for Louis to crawl back to him and Louis does, because he feels like shit. Harry cradles the back of Louis’ head in his hand and threads his fingers through Louis’ hair.

It seems to Louis that Harry is waiting for him to start crying, but the tears never come. It’s easier to concentrate with his nose pressed to Harry’s shoulder.

“I made a mistake.” Louis says. “It was years ago, and it was a mistake.”

Harry kisses his cheek and asks so quietly it’s hard to hear, “why did you do it love?”

“Because I was sad.” _And terrified, and lonely._

Harry knows there’s a lot more to it than that, but doesn’t push. He holds Louis close and kisses his cheek from time to time. Louis bites the inside of his cheek and hunches his shoulders. It seem he’s been doing that a lot lately. His breathe hitches when Harry traces the thin vertical line on Louis’ left wrist with his finger.

“I love you,” Harry says again.

“Ah,” Louis whines, “you could have said it with a pun or something.”

Harry doesn’t laugh. “I didn’t want it to be a joke.”

Louis is lying in bed with the kindest person in the whole universe. Harry doesn’t say I love you even though at some point in your life you slashed your wrists and tried to off yourself. Harry isn’t demanding, doesn’t push or pin Louis down for a confession. He knows Louis will tell him eventually, when he feels comfortable enough. “I love you too,” Louis breathes out.

There’s that.

 

*

 

The only time it happens they aren’t even fighting.

Louis has just made a joke about Harry’s nose and he sees it, in slow motion, how Harry raises his hand and Louis flinches so hard he almost falls off the bed. It turns out Harry was just going to touch his hair, or maybe slap his arm, but Louis doesn’t really know. After years of flinching over the smallest things it seems stupid to do it over someone as kind and gentle as Harry.

Harry notices, of course, but has the decency not to mention it or make sudden movements around him anymore. Which is stupid, because Louis is okay, it’s been a year. Louis knows Harry isn’t going to hit him.

Harry’s sweeter with him after that, if it’s even possible.

 

*

 

Christmas is inevitable.

Louis remembers all his birthdays, how they were hushed and messy because Christmas was the next day and god forbid his family didn’t have a perfect Christmas dinner with a perfect family and a perfect house. Louis learned from a young age not to make a big deal about his birthday, instead opting for just keeping his mouth shut and avoid confrontations because Louis opening his mouth always led to confrontations. And more often than not it ended with his face aching and swollen.

Liam lived closer to his house back in Doncaster, but they never saw each other for Louis’ birthday. Mostly because Louis’ parents were really adamant that he spent the twenty fourth and the twenty fifth surrounded by, as Jay used to tell him every year, people who really loved him and were always going to be there for him. Family.

So of fucking course it comes off as a huge shock when he’s watching The Office on the telly after Harry just left to go back to his flat and he gets a text from Liam asking-slash-begging Louis to go back to Donny with Liam’s family and spend a few days there. This is the first Christmas Louis is spending out of his home, out of Doncaster, and he’s most likely to spend it on his own eating ice cream and watching football reruns. Liam knows this because Liam knows everything about Louis, even the parts of Louis’ life that are too dark, too ugly, too much of everything.

Going back to Doncaster with Liam is a bad idea.

Zayn has been so focused on his music that Louis rarely sees him anymore, but they text as often as they can so Louis knows Zayn is going back to Bradford to be with his family too so Louis can't claim he'll be with Zayn.

How is it a good idea to crawl back into the cage he had spent years trying to escape from?

_Thanks mate but im gonna spend it with harry tell everyone I say hi_

It’s a total lie. He hasn’t even talked to Harry about Christmas and hasn’t even mentioned that his birthday is on the twenty-forth but whatever. Louis is pretty sure Harry’s going to spend the holidays with his family because it is so clear when he talks about his mom and Gemma how much he misses them and wishes they lived closer. If Harry somehow stays around for Christmas then Louis may mention it, may say hey, today’s my birthday.

That’s a really big if. Louis isn’t holding his breath.

Louis stares at his phone for a while, then turns it off and goes back to the football match on the telly. He used to be so scared of having a phone, of having something that made it easy for people to track him down, that it seems funny how right now he wishes she would call him. Louis is not even sure what he’d say if she did, or if he’d be able to stand the sound of her voice for a couple minutes.

According to the tv it’s almost 7:03 p.m. A nap has never sounded better.

 

*

 

“I’m thinking about going back to uni. Just a few classes a week,” Harry says over his tea cup one morning at Louis’ flat. “and I’d still be able to keep my job at the pub.”

Louis beams at him. “That’s great babe. I’ll have to keep an eye out for the cute boys in your class.”

“What about you? I mean, you said you were doing a course but never really told me what it was about.”

“If you really wanted to know you could have just asked, H. Whatever you’re thinking, I promise it’s less exciting.”

“I didn’t want to like, crowd you,” Harry confesses sheepishly.

“Just some boring law stuff, you know. I figured since I’m working at a lawyer’s firm I might as well just go with it,” Louis says, shrugging. “It’s like, twice a week so.”

Harry puts his cup down on the table and cradles Louis on his lap. “My boyfriend’s a posh boy.”

Louis snorts. “Very posh. A someday to be low life lawyer dating an English student.”

“A college dropout English student,” Harry corrects and steals a kiss when Louis swallows a bite of his toast.

“What a pair, we are.”

Harry presses his lips to Louis’ neck and bites down, sucking softly and making what later is going to be a purple love bite the size of a fist. Harry kisses over it before pulling away completely.

“I want you to meet my family,” he says softly. “Would you like to come over for Christmas?”

Something gets stuck in Louis’ throat. It’s probably his heart. Is Harry for real? It hits Louis then how serious their relationship is, how much Harry has become a part of his life. It hits him to think that Harry really wants Louis, wants him enough to bring him over for Christmas to meet his family.

Louis’ hands start to shake. “Um, yeah. Okay.”

Harry frowns. “I get it if you want to spend it with your family love,” he says as he rubs Louis’ back in wide comforting strokes.

If everything goes well after Christmas, Louis will tell him.

“No, no. I’d like to spend it with you, please,” he says and tries not to hunch his shoulders to appear small. “Please.”

Harry senses it’s a touchy subject and holds him tighter by the waist, whispers into his ear “are you sure you’re ready for my Christmas puns, baby?”

Louis giggles. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for those.”

“They’re going to love you,” Harry tells him and he sounds honest. “My mum’s been dying to meet you and Gemma is tired of me talking about you when she phones.”

“You said the same thing about Nick,” Louis grumbles.

“He did like you!” Harry replies with a laugh. “You were the one who slammed the door on his face when he was saying goodbye.”

“Have you ever slept with him?” Louis asks. He had meant to ask sooner but simply forgot. Or maybe he didn’t want to know the answer.

“No, I haven’t. Nick’s just flirty, I guess. He likes to talk about sex.”

“Good,” Louis says. “but I still don’t like him.”

“How come you don’t like any of my friends?” Harry asks as he plays with Louis’ fingers.

“I only dislike Nick! I adore Niall, he knows it.”

“Does he really? He was pretty hurt last week when you told him you were going to start bringing your own alcohol to the pub.”

“Oh, fuck off. Have you even tasted the whiskey?” Louis scoffs.

“I’m more of a Mimosa man myself,” Harry grins, “but I’ll sip yours next time.”

“I’ve struck boyfriend gold,” Louis murmurs happily. “English student, bartender and with a massive cock.”

“You forgot my great sense of humor and lovely curls, Lou.”

“Nah, I’m just here for your cock.”

Harry moans when Louis slips his hand under the waistband of his boxers to get a hold on his dick.

“I’m here only for your arse then,” Harry says. “It’s the best ass I’ve ever had, or seen.”

“You love me.”

“That I do.” Harry says and half carries half drags Louis to the bed. “You and your fantastic ass.”

 

*

 

On the twenty forth Harry picks him at noon in the blue Audi he shares with Niall and starts the three hour drive to Cheshire. Before Louis can even complain about the terrible hunger pains he's feeling by the time the get out of London Harry stops next to an empty parking lot and pulls out a bag of muffins and two sandwiches. When Harry hands him a beer Louis can't help but feel like right now, when they're alone and watching the clouds from behind the windshield, would be a good time to tell Harry today is his birthday. But Louis knows if he lets that little bit out it's going to cost him a lot, because Harry is going to ask him more stuff.

Ever since that day when Harry came across Louis' scarred wrists they haven't talked about it once. Louis is so thankful because he's not there yet, he can't talk about it, and the fact that Harry doesn't try to coax things out of him, or demand or try and squeeze the truth out of Louis like someone would do with a toothpaste tube that's almost empty makes Louis feel incredibly happy. At the same time it's hard when Harry tells Louis things about his life. They've been together for almost three months and a half and Louis can't even tell Harry when his birthday is. It's pathetic. Louis is pathetic.

Harry is quite the opposite. He whispers little secrets into Louis' year when they're lying in bed. He showers with Louis in the early mornings sometimes, and mentions all the things he loves about Louis out loud. It makes Louis want to cry. _How can you love me_ , he wants to scream, _how can you love me if you don't know me?_

Right now though, the sun is shining down on Harry almost creating a halo around his curls and Louis thinks he has never really loved anyone like he loves this boy. It scares the shit out of him because they've only been together for three months and that's too soon to say I love you, but with Harry everything is so new and exciting and Louis loves him so much sometimes he thinks he may explode with the intensity of it. Especially when Harry is looking at him with heart eyes and the softest smile. Especially when Harry leans closer and kiss him hard and needy but still somehow sweet.

Louis is so, so fucked.

Harry parks the car outside of a white pretty house after a long three hour drive.

There’s a well-kept garden at the front and the place somehow reminds him of Harry, only a younger version. Louis can picture a little Harry clumsily chasing after his sister for a hug, or helping his mum with the grocery bags. It looks even cozier than Harry’s flat back in London. Harry gets out of the car and opens Louis’ door for him and doesn’t even wait for Louis to let out a stuttering confession that this is really scary and fuck Harry maybe it’s not a great idea. He holds Louis’ hand tightly and guides him to the front door before opening it with his free hand.

“It’s going to be alright,” Harry whispers as they both step inside, “they’re going to love you.”

And of course Harry’s right.

At the sound of the door closing a thin girl with brown chocolate hair just like Harry comes bouncing down the stairs. She must be Gemma. Her smile is radiant and warm as she approaches them and takes a second to stare at Louis up and down before she steps over and hugs him.

“Hey!” Harry complains, “I should be hugged first, I am your brother and…”

Gemma pulls away from Louis long enough to roll her eyes. “I had forgotten how tall you actually are. You’ve become a giant,” she says and wraps her arms around Harry’s waist. They both look really alike.

“It’s great to finally meet you, Louis. I’ve had to sit there and hear Harry babbling about you for hours over the phone. It’s such a relief you could make it, that way you’ll keep him busy-“

“I thought I’d heard the door close!” joins another voice from the kitchen. “Oh my god Des that shirt is-“

“Mom,” Gemma says calmly, “Louis is here.”

“And Harry, _your son_ ,” Harry calls sounded irritated.

Louis gives up his pathetic attempts to hide behind Harry when they both walk into the kitchen to meet Harry’s mom. Louis is kind of surprised to hear there’s someone else in the house. From what Harry’s told him it’s been just his mom and his sister all along, but Louis supposes Des may be Harry’s stepfather. As it turns out, Louis is right.

Harry’s mom looks a lot like Gemma, and she’s got the same beautiful green eyes as Harry. Her hair is black and silky and when she comes over to Louis she looks like she’s ready to burst out with joy.

“You’re the famous Louis then,” she says and steps even closer to take a good look at him like Gemma did. “It’s so good to finally meet you!”

Before Louis can reply he gets pulled into a tight hug that leaves him gasping for air, not because of Anne’s tight grip on him but because when he breathes in she smells like such a mum and Louis isn’t even sure that’s an actual thing but she does somehow. She smells like something homemade, like band-aids on scraped knees and isn’t that fucking stupid. It reminds Louis so much of his own mum he has to swallow back the lump on his throat before he can speak.

“The pleasure’s mine, it’s great to meet you too, Mrs…”

“Just Anne, darling,” she laughs and doesn’t quite let go of him. When she sees Harry her whole face softens and she turns to him, already smiling. She’s got the same dimples Harry has.

“Finally someone notices me,” Harry huffs once they pull apart.

“Don’t be so melodramatic Harry.” Anne says softly.

“This is Des, by the way.” The guy looks nice enough. He’s kind of short and stocky, but with a rounded belly. He shakes Louis’ hand and smiles.

Louis can feel the anxiety crawling from the back of his throat because Harry never mentioned Des, but just before he can think about it any further Harry leans forward and whispers _he’s my stepdad_. They all sit down on the kitchen table. Louis watches as Gemma gets up and puts the kettle on. When he’s about to tell her not to worry about sugar she smiles and says Harry has already told her how Louis’ like his tea. Two sugars and a splash of milk. Well, then, Louis thinks astonished, he didn’t even think Harry noticed those things about him.

“I’m so glad you could come, Louis,” Anne tells her over his cup of tea, “I hope your family didn’t mind too much.”

“I- er… no, they didn’t. It’s okay,” Louis stutters.

Harry’s arm tighten around his shoulders. It amazes Louis how quickly Harry can pick up, like he just knows when something is going to make Louis feel sad or uncomfortable and he always finds a way to avoid it. Somehow, Louis doesn’t feel out of place. He’s in a room with Harry’s family, and they ask him questions about what his plans for the future are and Louis has no fucking clue what he wants to do with his life. Before it was all about survival, about getting enough money to pay rent and eat. He hadn’t really put much though into going to uni or studying anything serious besides those law courses he was doing.

“Harry was telling me he’d like to go back to uni next year,” Louis says and reaches out to ruffle Harry’s curls. “Our boy here is going to become a writer someday I think.”

Gemma snorts. “Oh my god, hasn’t he told you about all those po-“ she suddenly stops and hisses in pain, grabbing at her knee.

“Shut up,” Harry tells her.

“Told me about what?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right. Nothing,” Gemma scoffs. “Our boy here is already a writer. He’s been writing these pretty little poe-“

“Mum, we’re both knackered from driving.” Harry cuts in blushing beet red. “I’ll take Louis upstairs so he can take a shower and catch on some sleep before dinner, okay?”

“Absolutely,” Anne nods, “I’ll see you later then boys.”

Suddenly, Harry can’t climb the stairs fast enough.

 

*

 

After dinner, they both fall into Harry’s bed already blissed out and tired from the long day and the messy blowjobs they had as soon as they got upstairs. Harry’s childhood bed is not as tiny as Louis had pictured it, but it is small enough that Harry has to curl around Louis to keep from falling off. Not that Louis minds that much about being spooned.

Louis is sure his heart is beating loud enough for Gemma to hear, even though she sleeps at the end of the hall and the walls are thick enough to keep any sound at bay. She must think they’re fucking, but actually it’s just Louis trying to open his mouth and tell Harry about it. Just a small portion of it. Just, enough to feel like he has given Harry something in return for all his honesty, his sweetness. Louis wants to throw up.

They’re still awake two minutes after midnight.

“Yesterday was my birthday,” Louis says, sounding desperate. He wants to tell Harry _yesterday was my birthday and I’m telling you, I’m trusting you with this and it’s not much but to me is so fucking huge._

Harry freezes against him. “What?”

Louis breathes and says it again.

“Yesterday, the twenty-fourth, was my birthday. I turned twenty.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry asks. He sounds almost mad. “Why are you telling me now?”

Louis hunches his shoulders and hates himself for it. “I didn’t think it was a big deal,” he mumbles.

Harry sits up on the bed and looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Are you fucking kidding me Louis?” he says in a half-whisper half-shout. “How can you possibly think…”

“It wasn’t a big deal. Um, before. It never was.”

“What? I’m so tired Lou, you’re so fucking cryptic all the time, what does it even mean…”

Louis lets out a shuddery breath, says, “Back home no one ever made a big deal out of it. It was so close to Christmas that they never really, you know, remembered or anything.”

Harry’s face softens. He reaches out for Louis and cradles him on his lap, and Louis goes with it because he really needs Harry’s strong heartbeat against his ear to breathe again. He doesn’t want to cry about it, because it’s been so long and he has told himself a thousand times that he doesn’t care anyways, that he’s never cared about his stupid birthday.

Harry rubs his back gently. “I’m so sorry love, that they didn’t make you feel like it was a special day. Because it is,” Harry says, forcefully, “I love you and I’m sorry you didn’t tell me sooner, or else I would have made it so special for you Louis.”

Louis tries to keep the tears from falling, but by then it’s too late. When Harry feels the wet stop on his shoulder where Louis face is hidden he pulls away.

“Don’t cry Lou, c’mon love,” he says softly, “I love you, stop crying.”

“You keep saying that!” Louis manages to say through his tears. “But how can you love me when you don’t know shit about me?”

“I know that you hate wearing socks even when it’s fucking freezing. I know you can’t cook to save your life and that before I came in and made you fancy dinners your whole diet consisted on Frosties. I know your toes curl when you’re about to come. I know you’re amazing, and sweet and funny. And I know I love you,” Harry says. He touches Louis’ jaw. “I love you even though I don’t know everything there is to know about you.”

Louis is crying so hard he can’t breathe.

Harry doesn’t say anything else, instead holding Louis and rocking him back and forth a little to calm him down. By the time Louis’ breathing has slowed down Harry has already laid them both back on the bed, Louis’ back against his chest, and is playing with Louis hair.

“I, um. I want to.” Louis whispers into Harry’s neck. “I want to tell you everything there is to tell.”

“Only when you’re ready, okay? It doesn’t have to be right now.”

 _Yes it does_ , Louis thinks, _if I don’t do it know I’m never going to do it_. He tries to focus on Harry’s fingers massaging his scalp instead of how bad his heart burns.

“Do you remember that morning when you were, um. When you were touching my arm and…”

“Yes,” Harry breathes out. “I do.”

“That happened when I was fifteen,” Louis says, words slurred with the instensity of what he’s saying. “and it was true what I said about it when you asked.”

“You said you were sad,” Harry murmurs, “and that it had been a mistake.”

“Yeah. I took a bottle of aspirin the morning of my birthday and made those cuts. My mom found me and drove me to the hospital, so.” Harry doesn’t say anything. “My dad fucked off right after I was born, you know? And my mum struggled for a while until she met Dan,” Louis voice breaks on the last word and fuck, he hates him so much It hurts to think about it. “And like, my mom had the girls with him, but I wasn’t his kid, so he just.”

“He made you feel shitty about it?” Harry supplies.

Louis bites his lip to keep from snorting. “

He did a lot more than that. He, well. When I was ten I spent New Year’s Eve in the hospital.”

Harry’s sharp intake of breath takes Louis by surprise. He’s nowhere near done yet and Harry’s already shocked?

“What happened? Did he hurt you?”

Louis shift uncomfortably in Harry’s arms. “He broke my arm because I hadn’t cleaned my room.”

“Love,” Harry begins.

“I learned to deal with it. He never touched my mum or my sisters like that and I was a little shit to him most of the time so I get why he… When I was fifteen.” Louis stops and takes a deep breath. “That day I realized I liked boys. And I just. He was going to find out, and he was going to kill me.”

“I panicked and I. I just did it because I was so tired of everything, and scared and. I just wanted to be normal, but I wasn’t and he…” fuck, he said he wasn’t going to cry, “I wanted to move out as soon as I turned eighteen but I was so scared. I was so scared he was going to come after me and. I don’t know. I ran away last year, and came to London because I knew Liam was living there and I was so scared.”

Harry presses a kiss to his forehead and Louis thinks he may be crying too. “I’m so sorry that happened to you Lou, I’m sorry he was so awful. I love you so much sweetheart.”

“I threw my phone away the first week I was away and I only got another one when we met. Liam gave it to me.” Louis says quietly. “I was so scared of him finding me, or my mum finding me and making me go back. Which is stupid because I was nineteen but still.”

Harry tightens his arms around Louis. “Did you mum know about him?”

Louis starts to shake. “Yeah.”

Harry draws the covers over them and tucks Louis into his side.He sloths their fingers together and gives Louis’ a gentle squeeze. Louis is so, so tired. His throat is burning.

“I think you’re the bravest person I know,” Harry whispers into his ear. “And I’m sorry you had to go through that. I love you so much Louis, I’m so sorry.”

Louis closes his eyes and lets himself relax. It’s easy with Harry’s big palm rubbing his back and scratching his side. Exhaustion starts to drag him under.

“Will you stay with me until I wake up?” Louis asks already yawning, because he knows Harry always wakes up early and likes to take a shower before he has breakfast.

Harry manages to say “of course baby,” without choking.

Louis falls asleep in Harry’s childhood bed, wondering if telling Harry about his mom and Dan was a good idea. Before he drifts off he hears Harry softly humming into his hair. _Happy birthday Louis._

 

*

 

When Louis wakes up the next morning he’s all alone. He can feel the hurt deep inside his bones, and his joins ache with it, because Harry had promised. Harry had promised to be there when Louis woke up and he’s not there. Maybe Louis had made a mistake, maybe he should have kept his shit to himself instead of being a bitch about it. God, he feels so ashamed.

Just when he’s about to get up and go to the bathroom the bedroom door swings open and Harry’s head peeks around the doorframe. He smiles at Louis and walks in, holding a tray of muffins. As he comes closer Louis sees there’s a little card too.

“Good morning,” Harry says and sits on the edge of the bed. “I’ll be right back, okay? I’m just going to get your tea.”

Louis stops him with a hand around his wrist. “No, no. Stay here? Come back to bed,” he says and he doesn’t care right now if he sounds like he’s begging.

Harry smiles at him, says, “of course love. Budge over please.”

When Harry is finally set next to him and the tray of muffins is carefully put on the bed Louis cocks an eyebrow towards Harry. The muffins smell like lemon and raspberry.

“Is this for me?” Louis asks and points at the little red card. Harry just nods and presses a kiss to his cheek.

 

**_What’s the left side of a birthday cake?_ **

_**One that’s not eaten.** _

_Love you Lou happy b-day xxxxx_

_-H_

 

Louis chokes up a little. “There’s no cake,” he comments and tries to keep his voice steady.

“I know,” Harry says looking properly embarrassed, “I didn’t have the right flour to make one and I didn’t want to just buy you one, you know? I’m sorry. The joke’s good though.”

Louis giggles and kisses Harry until he can’t breathe anymore.

It tastes like happiness would if it was a flavour.

 

*

 

“He writes poems about you,” Gemma tells him that evening while Harry’s in the shower.

They’re sitting in the living room watching the telly, although neither of them are actually watching it it’s still nice to have the background noise around.

Louis laughs. “What?”

“He writes poems about you. That’s what I was trying to say yesterday before dinner,” Gemma replies. “He’d call me once a week to tell me how blue your eyes looked when you stared at the sun or how small you were. And I used to think he was just crushing on you…”

“But?”

“But then he told me had been writing poetry about you and it just. I mean, he’s so in love with you it’s hard to watch. So I’m giving you the big sis talk. You break his heart and I’ll eat your vital organs. Is that clear?”

Louis blinks, says, “Okay.”

“Okay. Good. If Harry asks I never told you anything about the poems.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” Louis promises.

“Good. I think we’ll get along just fine then,” Gemma tells him with a big smile.

Her dimples are just like Harry’s.

 

*

 

“My mom walked in on him kicking me when I was twelve,” Louis says. The room is dark enough to feel comfortable. “But I think she knew before that.”

Harry presses a kiss to Louis’ temple. “What makes you think she did?” he asks softly.

“Um. She used to give me baths when I was younger. And like, I didn’t know why she always made me keep my shirt on but I think it’s because… maybe she knew I had bruises, but she just didn’t want to see them?”

“She should have done something about it the second she suspected something,” Harry tells him, and he sounds so angry on Louis’ behalf. “She should have left him the moment he put his hands on you.”

“She’s getting a divorce. Liam told me.”

Harry hums. “Does Liam know about…?”

“Yeah. We grew up together, met in school. I met Zayn when I moved here, he was a friend of Liam’s and they both know everything.”

“That’s great, right?” Harry says. “This is a good thing.”

“I can’t forgive her,” Louis finally breathes out. “I just can’t.”

“What she did was wrong Louis. It’s not your fault, it’s not wrong to be mad. You don’t have to forgive her if you don’t want to.”

“I miss her so much sometimes it’s like I can’t barely breathe,” Louis says and wipes angrily at his eyes. “But at the same time I fucking hate her so much for letting him do that to me.”

Harry sighs. “What about your sisters, love? Do you miss them?”

They’ve talked about this before. His sisters were the only reason Louis stuck around. He was scared Dan would do the same thing with them, and Louis didn’t want to let that happen, could not let it happen.

“Of course. I just. Going back just isn’t an option for me, not any time soon.”

Harry makes sure Louis is looking at him, says, “I won’t let him hurt you again. Ever, okay? I’ll fucking kill him if he comes near you. I swear I will, Lou.”

Louis remembers all the time he spent being scared. How he tried to hunch his shoulders, make himself smaller so he wouldn’t look like he was asking for it. He remembers how meek and pliant he was around the house, how he never spoke unless he was spoken to. Jay knew about it and let it happen anyways, because she was scared of being alone, Louis thinks, because she didn’t want to lose Dan. Because she loved him more than she cared about Louis’ wellbeing. He thinks about the long nights he spent crying in bed because the bruises hurt so much he could barely move, how no one ever told him he was good, that he was loved.

“After I realized I liked boys,” Louis goes on, “I had this secret boyfriend. Kind of, I mean. He wasn’t really my boyfriend I guess, because I knew if Dan found out I was gay he’d kill me. We only fucked and that was it, so when I met you I thought… I don’t know, no one had ever taken the time to prep me before. And you were so good to me I just.”

“I love you,” Harry says. “I love you and I’ll never stop taking my time to prep you. And I always want to hear these things, okay? Don’t stop telling me stuff, because I love you so much and I can’t stand not knowing.”

“I love you too. I’m sorry I’m such a mess, H.” Louis says with a self-depreciating smile. “I’m sure this isn’t what you thought you were getting into when we met.”

“You’re not a mess Louis,” Harry says fiercely. “The people who were supposed to take care of you fucked up, but that doesn’t mean you’re fucked up. You’re not a mess.” Louis wants to crawl into Harry’s chest and stay there forever.

 

*

 

It’s half past two in the morning when he gets the call. Louis tries to get it before the noise wakes Harry up, but by the time he reaches his phone Harry’s already sitting up in bed next to him. It’s from an unknown number.

“Hello?” he rasps out. Nothing. “Hello?”

There’s a soft breathing on the other side of the line. Louis used to fall asleep to that sound before Dan came along, when it was just the two of them against everything. Louis wonders for a second if Liam gave her his number, or if she found it on the Internet or something. His heart turns to ice and the he feels hot with anger. She has no right to call, no right to call at two in the morning to just breathe on the phone and not say anything when she should be the one feeling like shit, when she should be apologizing. Instead of saying any of that, Louis makes his voice sound colder.

“Don’t call here again,” he says and hangs up.

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Harry call him on it. When he sees Louis’ face though Harry doesn’t even have to ask who it was on the phone because it doesn’t even matter. He puts Louis close and spends the next hour peppering Louis’ face with sloppy kisses.

 

*

 

“He called me crying one night a couple months ago,” Niall says as he stomps on his cigarette. They’re alone, Harry’s busy closing the bar for the night. “He was babbling about you, saying you had tried to off yourself when you were younger. And he was so fucked up, like actually _crying_ on the phone.”

Louis doesn’t say anything. He thinks about Harry, how sad he had looked that Saturday morning when he accidentally came across Louis scarred wrist. Louis feels like shit, knowing he worried Harry enough to call Niall and cry about it.

“Harry’s so gone for you mate, it’s like. I don’t know, _I don’t know_. It’s fucking crazy, because you met at my pub and you’re like fucking soulmates or some shit.”

“Maybe you should change the pub’s name to Cupid’s.” Louis says and tries to smile.

“I love you and I love him, you two are great. But if you do something like that again, if you fuck Harry up…”

“Then you’ll eat my vital organs,” Louis finishes with a grin. “I’ve heard it before.”

“Well then, just. Just don’t do it again, okay?” Niall says, and he sounds like he’s kind of begging.

Louis gives Niall’s shoulder a squeeze. He’s not going to crumble. “I won’t mate.”

Niall closes his eyes and smiles like he always does, with this big goofy smile. “Great, because I don’t really think I’d like to eat your organs.”

Louis snorts. “My liver must taste exactly like that awful whiskey of yours.”

“Fuck off, my whiskey’s fine,” Niall shrieks, already red in the face.

“You know, there’s a new pub a couple blocks from Harry’s place. Maybe I should go there and you know, check if the whiskey’s fine.”

Niall sighs. “Okay, okay. I’ll buy the good stuff for you, but only because I can’t have you talkin shit about my drinks.”

“I never said you’re drinks are bad. Your whiskey though…”

“I fucking got it!”

 

*

 

It’s Saint Patrick’s Day, which actually turns out to be a real holiday in Ireland so Niall makes them all call in sick to work and join him at the pub.

The pub is full of people watching a lad dressed like a leprechaun with glazed over eyes and tipsy smiles. Harry’s working tonight but his shift is almost over. Zayn is singing somewhere in a corner with Ed playing the guitar softly, and Liam has just introduced them to Sophia, the girl Louis saw him with the night he introduced Zayn and Liam to Harry. Even Niall’s finally getting some, snogging a nameless girl behind the counter which is technically against the rules because no monkey business in here lads.

Even though they are all scattered around right now they’ve become so close, so united, and Louis feels like they weren’t really complete without Niall and Harry before. The other day they threw a party at Niall’s because he had finally slept with a girl he met at the pub. Louis remembers how happy he had felt that day, how complete. All his life he had felt like there were pieces missing, like he was missing parts of himself, and now he think he may have found them. Zayn’s voice is as amazing as ever, but somehow tonight it makes Louis’ heart melt inside his chest with how right everything is.

Harry comes over to him, sporting a green hat Niall made him put on at the star of the night, and Louis thinks he’s never seen anyone more beautiful.

“Your usual whiskey, Pierre?” Harry asks him.

Louis shakes his head. He’s so, _so_ in love with him. “Surprise me this time.”

Harry takes his time to answer.

“Would you like Gin and platonic, or do you prefer Scotch and sofa?” he asks with a bashful grin, dimples on full display.

 _Just you_ , Louis thinks. _I just want you._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
